


A More Benign Use for Oil of Vitriol

by Garonne



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Upstairs," he repeated in a significant tone of voice, pointing at the ceiling.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>She gasped.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"To the humans?"</i>
</p><p>An older, sassier Olivia returns to Baker Street, and gets caught up in a little adventure with Dr Dawson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A More Benign Use for Oil of Vitriol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnInternationalReputation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnInternationalReputation/gifts).



> This ended up being a combination of both your prompts.

It was five years since Olivia had last stood in Baker Street, before this very door. Then, she had been terrified for her father. Now, she was bursting with excitement. She took a deep breath, and knocked.

Dr Dawson was in the sitting room, looking flustered and harassed. When he saw Olivia, however, his face lit up with a smile.

"Miss Flaversham, my dear! What a delightful surprise."

"I'm in London for a few days," she said, holding out her hand. "So I thought I'd call by to say hello."

"Delighted to see you again," he said, giving her a hearty handshake. "A real pleasure. My, my, this brings back memories. And how you've grown!"

He was smiling so broadly that his moustache bounced up and down, and Olivia had to stifle a giggle.

"Tea and biscuits?" suggested Mrs Judson, who'd shown Olivia in.

Soon Olivia and Dr Dawson were installed at the table, drinking tea and inquiring after Mr Basil and Mr Flaversham in turn.

"My father's keeping very well," Olivia said. "He opened a new shop in Edinburgh, you know. And I myself, ah -- " Olivia thought she would burst if she had to keep back her own news any longer. "I have my own business in Edinburgh now too -- a consulting business." She couldn't help beaming proudly at him. "I'm in London on behalf of a client, in fact."

"Congratulations, my dear," Dawson exclaimed, and they both had to stand up so that he could shake her hand once more.

"A consulting detective, eh?" he went on once they were both seated again. "My word. So you've been honing your skills, then, I suppose? Deduction, inference, observation..." He chuckled. "Do you enjoy showing them off as much as Basil does?"

She leapt at the chance to demonstrate her skills.

"In fact, I couldn't help _observing_ that you seemed rather vexed about something when I arrived. Something to do with Mr Basil, if I'm not mistaken." She closed her eyes for a second, picturing Dr Dawson glancing from Basil's chair to the calendar on the wall, all the while wearing a harassed air. "And something to do with the fact that Christmas is in just four days."

"Oh!" Dr Dawson seemed entirely taken aback. "My goodness. Yes, you're quite right. I'm afraid you found me in a bit of a tizzy when you arrived. A small disaster has befallen me."

Olivia wished heartily she could tell him precisely what his problem was, but she wasn't quite _that_ good yet. Instead, she was forced to ask, "What's the matter, exactly?"

"It's Basil's Christmas present. I bought it in a shop in Oxford Street and had it delivered here -- or so I intended, but it's been delivered upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Upstairs," he repeated in a significant tone of voice, pointing at the ceiling.

A gasp escaped her.

"To the humans?"

He nodded glumly.

"And now I must wait for the cover of darkness before I can try to get it back."

"Nonsense," said Olivia. "What if they open the parcel before that? We should go at once."

Dr Dawson's eyes opened wide for a second, before an air of determination settled over his face.

"Well, I shouldn't like to be less courageous than you, Miss Flaversham. You're quite right. Yes, indeed, I should go at once." He sprang to his feet. "But there's no need for you to come, of course."

"What do you mean, no need for me to come?"

"Well, it may be dangerous, and -- "

"Really, Dr Dawson! Of course I'm coming. After all, I'm a professional! Recovering lost things is part of what I do for a living."

That brought him up short.

"Yes, so it is. My apologies, Miss Flaversham."

"Good, then that's settled."

Dr Dawson took a lamp, and led the way out into the hall. A door at the end of the hallway led to a narrow staircase, which twisted back and forth in the dark space inside the walls.

Olivia noticed Dr Dawson glancing at her from time to time as they climbed, an odd and indecipherable expression on his round face.

"Is something the matter, Dr Dawson?"

He gave a tiny chuckle, and shook his head.

"I can't help being a little sad you've grown up, that's all, my dear."

Olivia was very pleased indeed that she was finally grown up, something she'd been awaiting impatiently for years, so she had no idea what to say to that. Instead, she asked, "What is this Christmas present, exactly?"

"You remember Holmes had a little accident with his violin when you were last here?"

Olivia felt her mouth drop open in amazement.

"What, he still hasn't got a replacement? But that was years ago!"

"Oh, he's gone through several replacements since then. That's just the problem." He grimaced. "Though at least I always know what to get him for Christmas!"

It was a long way up to the humans' ground floor, but finally they reached it. Dr Dawson pushed aside a plank of wood, and then stepped aside so that Olivia could peek around him. She found herself looking out through a hole in the skirting board, which gave them a view along the hallway to the front door. There were no coats hanging on the hooks by the stairs.

"No one in," Dawson said with satisfaction. "We can go on to their sitting room, where their post and deliveries are certainly waiting for them. Unfortunately," he looked up and Olivia followed his gaze, "their sitting room is one floor up."

An enormous flight of stairs towered up before them, and the landing at the top was almost out of sight.

"How many steps?" 

"Seventeen," Dr Dawson said with a groan.

The poor doctor was rather out of breath by the time they reached the top. They stopped for a minute on the landing, and he sat down on the curved foot of a wooden cabinet to catch his breath.

"Who lives here?" Olivia asked as they waited.

"A widow and two lodgers. One of them's a doctor, I believe. The other does something in Basil's line -- though I expect he's not so good at it, of course."

"No one could be as well known or talented as Mr Basil," Olivia said stoutly.

"Certainly not." He climbed to his feet again. "Well, shall we press on?"

The upstairs sitting room was large and cluttered. Cabinets and bookcases jostled for space with tables and chairs. Piles of newspaper were dotted here and there on the floor, along with cardboard boxes and stacks of medical journals.

"Mrs Judson always puts our post on the sideboard just beside the door," said Dawson. "So -- " He looked up at the enormous sideboard placed next to the door. "Let's start there, shall we? And quick as we can!"

They hurried up the side of the cabinet. Its top surface turned out to be cluttered with bric-a-brac, like the rest of the room. They skirted round a pouch of tobacco and a letter-opener, stepped over a pair of wire-cutters, and climbed across a thick leather-bound book, until finally --

"That's it!" Dawson exclaimed, at the sight of a large rectangular package sitting on top of a pile of even larger letters.

That was when Olivia heard the ominous click of the door opening.

"Oh my, oh my!" Dr Dawson whispered, and they both dived under the nearby pile of envelopes.

 _How stupid of us,_ Olivia thought a second later. _One of the first things they're going to want to do is check their post._

From their hiding place, she could see the two men who had just entered the room. One had crossed to the fireplace to stoke up the embers glowing there. Olivia could tell at a glance, from a few pertinent details, that he was the doctor Dawson had mentioned. The other man, the dark-haired one, was still by the door, taking his gloves off.

"Nothing like a nice brisk walk in the cold, eh, Watson?" he said. "Your nose is a magnificent shade of red."

"How kind of you to say so, my dear Holmes," the other said dryly. 

"We can't stay here under these letters," Dawson hissed, clearly thinking the same thing Olivia was.

He picked up the parcel and they both ran down the side of the cabinet, and then underneath it. Just in time, for as soon as they were out of sight Olivia heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and then a polished black shoe came into view. The sole was caked with mud from Hyde Park, she noticed.

"Any post for me, Holmes?" the man by the fireplace asked.

"Another dozen Christmas cards."

The shoe disappeared, and then reappeared moments later, a few feet further away. Its wearer had sat down in a chair just the other side of the door, and now the sounds of a letter-opener cutting paper could be heard.

 _Drat and blast it,_ Olivia thought. _Trapped!_

"There is another way out," Dr Dawson whispered. "A small hole in the skirting board between the bookcase and the fireplace. But I fear -- " They both crossed to the other side of the sideboard, to look across at the fireplace, where the human doctor had just taken a seat, completely blocking their way. "Indeed, it is as I feared. Oh dear, oh dear."

Olivia thought hard. There was a desk in the corner just next to the sideboard, covered with glassware and chemicals. She had got a good look at it while they were on the sideboard, and over the past few years she'd been studying chemistry as hard as she could, having seen how useful it was to Mr Basil.

She remembered seeing a beaker labelled muriate of potash, and a bottle that was hopefully oil of vitriol.

"I have an idea," she whispered. "Meet me under the armchair in about thirty seconds."

Before Dr Dawson could stop her, she sped out from under the cover of the sideboard, and up the leg of the nearest table, which was, she remembered, laid for tea. She grabbed a cube of sugar from the sugar bowl, and then jumped across to the desk nearby. She lifted the bottle with a struggle, poured the contents into the beaker, dropped in the sugar cube, and ran as fast as she could, back down the table leg and under the nearby armchair, where Dawson was waiting.

Above her, she could already hear a roaring noise, interspersed with pops and rattles, as the mixture she'd made started to explode.

"What on earth -- Holmes! What have you done?"

Hurrying feet crossed Olivia's line of vision.

"I don't know! I assure you, I left it in a perfectly stable condition -- "

A second pair of shoes joined the first by the table now, and the way to the fireplace was clear. Olivia and Dr Dawson exchanged triumphant grins, and ran for the mousehole.

The last thing Olivia heard before they left the room was the doctor exclaiming, "You promised me, Holmes! No more explosions until after Christmas --"

Back downstairs, they were met by the sound of Basil's voice from the sitting room. He seemed to be talking to Mrs Judson.

"You go ahead, Miss Flaversham," said Dawson. "I need to hide this away." He held up the parcel he carried. "By the way, I do hope you'll still be in London to dine with us on Christmas day?"

"I'd be delighted."

The sitting room door was ajar, and she pushed it further open.

"Miss Flaversham!" Basil exclaimed, before she was even quite in the room. "I see you're staying at the Mousechester Hotel. Have you managed to track down the Duke of Ayrshire's missing diary yet?"

She grinned.

"Hello, Mr Basil," she said, holding out her hand.


End file.
